


A Yulemas Carol

by The_Whistler



Category: A Christmas Carol - Fandom, Steam Powered Giraffe
Genre: Christmas, Depression, Family, Family Conflict, Feels, Gen, Happy Family, Holidays, Suicide, reclamation, yulemas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-18
Updated: 2013-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-05 00:10:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1087272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Whistler/pseuds/The_Whistler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter was content in his lab. Science was everything to him. He didn't leave it long enough to see family, even. And he had no use for Christmas... er... Yulemas.</p>
<p>Until the year he needed it the most.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bunny's Voice

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: First, I do not own Steam Powered Giraffe or any bit of it other than some lovely merch. This is just a bit of fun. It's a fusion f a classic tale, my own ideas, and VERY generous amounts of the collective head-canons of fellow fans.
> 
> Second, very serious: There 's a lot of talk in here about a sex change. Not about an actual transgender person, no... let me explain.
> 
> Fanon (I think) has it that Matter Mistress Bunny used to be a guy, a Walter Worker, who was transformed into a lady mime (such as those in the Kazooland island of Merveille) by a Blue Matter explosion. Further fanon has provided us with Matter Master David, Bunny's twin. Yeah, pretty blatant, but also a lot of fun.
> 
> I have taken the stance in this story that considering the violence involved in the accident, it will cause some pretty strong responses. This is not meant to pass judgment on transgender individuals, or to suggest that any character in the story is doing so. This is fantasy. There were male twins and one is spontaneously mutated into a mute woman. His twin hears the screams and finds him unconscious. His reactions of distress are in line with PTSD rather than social commentary. 
> 
> This is meant to be a fun story, to leave the reader with hope, laughs, and lots of feels. But in order to punctuate those happy feels, and to try and harness the spirit of the Dickens story that I shamelessly gutted for my template, I have had to find the dark side of Peter's actions, what could conceivably happen to people he loves if he continues to neglect them. It had to be enough to drive change. And let's face it, we're all pretty much over seeing the name of Scrooge on that headstone. I love the original story dearly, but by the time Scrooge finds out he's the dead guy, you're rolling your eyes and saying, "Puh-leeze! Do the math, bro!"
> 
> No, I had to up the ante.
> 
> And so I apologize in advance and promise you that there is enough happy to carry you through, though you think your heart may break along the way. There's plenty of corny goodness in the happy moments, though, as happy moments are usually full of the corn. 
> 
> I discourage anyone who might tend to think of the characters in my story as being the same as the real humans who inspired them. I took huge amounts of license with real people or derivatives of them, and I don't really know any of them well enough for a correct characterization. Again... Fiction. Yes, their openness about their lives, careers, and personalities provided a lot of little inside jokes for fans, but it really is just my made-up nonsense as a whole.
> 
> And I alternate saying Yulemas and Christmas because the characters are as confused as we are. Apparently Yulemas is a month long so they're observing it on Christmas just to keep it convenient.
> 
> And now, without saying anything more to spoil it, I present my crossover fic... a creepy Christmas card for my fellow fans... A Yulemas Carol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Illustration - http://beethegatekeeper.deviantart.com/art/Yulemas-Carol-illustration-2-Bunny-s-Voice-499201680

Bunny was mute, to begin with.

Well, not to begin with really. To begin with, she was a guy with a bit of a thing for hyperactive rants, and then Blue Matter happened, and Matter Mistress Bunny followed. But it was a fact that Bunny was mute, otherwise there would be nothing remarkable at all about her strolling into a friend’s laboratory for a nice chat. I want that firmly established.

It was the kind of day people in the colder reaches of the world only dream of for most of the year… sun shining, sky a watery blue, a gentle breeze coming in off the ocean.

It was also a warm and sunny Yulemas Eve, and as they say in the modern Christmas carols (which also have some bearing on Yulemas as pertaining to the weather), that sucks.

But at Walter Manor, they were making the most of it. The halls were decked. Then someone caught Rabbit at it and the halls were decorated instead.

Hatchworth cooked and baked like mad, gingerbread cookies and more traditional local goodies, tamales, chocolate chip cookies, chocolate fudge, pralines and shortbread; as well as strange European delicacies and things he’d heard of in festive tales, with flakey layers, candied fruits and nuts, and exotic spices. No one was willing to interrupt because while he was left to concentrate on his work, each dish came out as flawless as one would expect from a robotic cook.

The Spine surprised everyone by turning into the world’s second oldest child during the holidays and insisted on celebrating Yulemas in more of a Christmas style. Fresh from reading old Christmas tales, he asked Hatchworth, during a break from his work, to make sure that the eggnog was heavily accented with rum, a request which was hastily stalled by Walter girl Paige as soon as The Spine had gone. The fruitcake was drunk enough, she’d assured him, and it wasn’t as if The Spine could taste the difference.

The Hall of Wires was already rather festive with its deep red gleam, but The Spine, wearing Rabbit’s long Santa hat and an old red velvet vest looted from an old trunk belonging to Colonel Walter, and humming happily to himself, had hung it with antique glass lights of every other color, as well as tinsel and glass ball ornaments, insisting that the classic holiday décor was the best. Qwerty couldn’t move an inch for a month. No one asked The Spine about the mistletoe over the door… and The Spine wondered why everyone peeked in and praised the décor but never passed the threshold. It was widely accepted and chuckled over as an odd glitch of his, but no one had the courage to see if he meant to follow through…

The humans in the band were busy as well. Yulemas was a season as much as a holiday, so Michael Reed, Matt Smith, and Steve Negrete all had plans that took them away from Walter Manor on Christmas Eve, but had arranged to be back after noon on Christmas Day for a gathering of band and family. The Walters went ahead and celebrated on Christmas, since Yulemas was such a difficult day to pin down. Peter Walter V and his wife Annie Walter I made sure everyone was happy and had plenty of soup (in case their stockings leaked).

The Walter Girls also visited family, but did so with care… no two at the same time, lest they come back to pandemonium. Matter Mistress Bunny had it the easiest, spending the holiday with her twin, Matter Master David, who always seemed to know what she wanted to say. He was surly much of the time, but always seemed to brighten when hugged, so the Walter Girls had his number.

But there was one who didn’t celebrate.

Peter Walter VI was a man of science, like the late Col. Walter himself. Unlike Col. Walter, however, and though still young (just 27 years old) he kept to himself in his gloomy, cold lab. After the accident in late spring, that had left him with a Blue Matter vortex where a face should be, he had hidden still deeper inside the Manor, sometimes changing locations without notice.

While even the grumpy Matter Master David showed some little brightening of spirits in his sister’s company and in the hugs of the Walter crew, Peter VI found no such warmth… he kept busy at his study, and expected those who assisted him to do the same. He had once been warmer, once been fond of the holidays and loved a good hug and a joke. But the volatile nature of his physical state had robbed him of his willingness to get close to people, and with them his good humor, and so he remained in his lab as the festivities escalated.

The suggestion that they were taking the holiday off had brought one of his astounding withering looks… astounding due to his ability to project his expression to the viewer despite his swirling face being covered with a mask. Undaunted by Peter’s special ability to inspire awe thus, Michael Reed had done his best to persuade the young scientist to come out for the family and staff holiday party.

“Merry Christmas!” he cried as he sailed into the lab, startling Peter.

“Christmas? What’s that?” Peter asked flatly, trying to cover the pounding of his heart at having been startled during a delicate procedure.

“Fine. Yulemas. Merry Yulemas.”

“Whatever.”

“Don’t you mean, ‘Humbug?’” Michael said with a grin.

“What is that, even? A Victorian swear? Goes with your Steampunk goggles I guess…”

“They’re just a prop. So, you gonna spend Christmas Eve with your mom and dad?”

“No more than usual…”

“Dude, you live in the same house and you never see them. I don’t even live with my family and I see them all the time.”

“Your point?”

“I guess it’s just that you haven’t done anything for the holidays in like, five years. I was sorta hoping after your accident you might have come to see the fragility of life? No? How about the value of cherishing the good things in life? Love of family and friends? Feed a little tuna to a stray cat? Something?”

Peter kept working.

Michael sighed and sat on the edge of the large desk. “Guess not. Hope springs eternal. Well, at least come out tomorrow, okay?”

“Which is?”

“The Yulemas party, dingus! Come on, never mind why it’s a party, it’s still a party! We’ll all be there. Rabbit made a piñata and Hatchworth stopped him before he filled it with soup! You know the great treats Hatchworth makes this time of year. I bet he’s filled it was some incredible stuff…”

Peter turned his masked face toward Michael at an angle that somehow spoke volumes.

“Oh… right. The face. Well, you could save some and eat them later when you’re alone…” Michael muttered, cheeks pink.

“I’m fine here. Save me a gingerbread man. I’ll see you on Thursday.”

“Boxing Day.” Michael didn’t move.

“Bye.” Peter prodded him lightly in the thigh with his pen.

“You’re staying here the whole time?”

“Yes.”

“Here. Alone.”

“You want me to put it in a memo? I’m staying here.”

Michael sighed a very long sigh. “I’m sorry to hear it. I’d figured if there was any time we’d be able to get you upstairs with us all, it would be the holidays. Well,” he continued briskly, hopping off the desk and causing the papers on it to shudder, “I’m headed out to see my family and I’m gonna be festive enough for the both of us.”

“Do what you have to do,” Peter muttered, repositioning his papers.

“Merry Christmas!” Michael called from the doorway.

“Whatever.”

“Happy Yulemas!”

“Yeah, yeah, fine.”

“Happy New Year!”

“That’s next week…”

“See you!”

“Yeah.”

Michael left at last, chuckling to himself. Peter sighed sharply. Michael was always chuckling. He was worse than David Letterman.

After fending off visits from Steve Negrete, Matt Smith, his parents, Walter Girl Paige, Walter Girl Carolina, Rabbit, Hatchworth, and even The Spine (who now had Holly on his fedora with a bit of mistletoe hidden inside it, to the dismay of the entire staff… until they found out he only meant to kiss them on the forehead), he was at last visited by Matter Mistress Bunny. She sailed in carrying a tray on which she had prepared a solitary meal, without even so much as a sprig of holly, and marched out again without even a nod. Very professional. He approved, he decided, as he lifted the cover off the tray.

It was soup, of course; a Yulemas favorite. Still, it was good soup, so he didn’t grudge her the joke. She’d always had a sense of humor as a man. It stood to reason that she’d find a way to channel it now.

It was as he sipped at his meal, sneezing from time to time (he had a bit of a cold, and yet they wanted him to go to parties) that he heard it.

He thought it was his imagination at first, or one of the ghosts in Walter Manor… it had been so quiet that he’d begun to expect something to break the silence. But he hadn’t expected it to be an accordion.

He whipped around, trying to find the source without success. He heard heavy footsteps approaching the open doorway of the lab. He scrambled to put his mask back on.

“Rabbit, not now…” he called.

As he fastened the last hook, Matter Mistress Bunny strolled around the corner, playing an eerie tune on her old accordion.

Peter clutched at his chest, gulping air and trying to calm down. So much for professionalism! “Bunny!” he cried. “Why? Ugh… I forgot you used to play that thing… I thought you gave it to Rabbit.”

Bunny walked in and leaned in very close, eyes on his. It did nothing to calm him. In fact, he began to wonder with dismay if she meant to kiss him. Considering the wild changes that had taken place in the last year… for her, in fact, it had been exactly one year since her transformation… he wasn’t fully acclimated to his old friend now being female. He certainly hadn’t sensed any attraction on her part… to him or any other man.

“This is… awkward…” he murmured.

“You bet your sweet life it is,” she said, her voice low and level.

Peter screamed. This was too much!

“Quit whining. I want to get this over with.”

“Wh- wha- wha- what…”

“Hush. Peter Walter!” she intoned in the best bass tones that her old self had once been able to muster. “I have come to bring you a warning!”

“YOU CAN’T TALK!!!” he shrieked at last.

She put her hands on her hips. “Does it _look_ like I’m talking?”

“Y-yeah…”

“Does it _sound_ like I’m talking?”

“Um… yeah…”

“Then shut up and let me talk.”

“I…”

“These are the chains I forged in life!” she boomed.

Peter looked around.

“No, wait… Wrong script.”

“What’s going on?” Peter begged.

“You are a miserable little sh… erm, shut-in, that’s what’s going on. You are a science whore. You talk yourself out of caring for people so they can’t slap your ears back when you want to be a selfish jerk.”

_“Ow…”_

“You push everyone away and expect them to lap it up and keep loving you while you use them.”

“ _Seriously…”_

“You used to _like_ the holidays, dummins.”

Peter frowned. “Yeah, so? I grew up.”

“Peter V still parties every holiday. He knows how to treat people. Everyone feels welcome.”

“Second childhood. Anyway, he does it all, so I have it covered.”

“No excuses, brat! You want to stay in here with science until you die?

“This is important! It’s certainly more important than a kids’ holiday that wastes money and makes everyone greedy pigs!”

“I’m not talking about presents or soup, Peter. I’m talking about holiday spirit, making people feel like you actually care…”

“Bunny…”

“I didn’t care. Well, not enough. I used to be an artist… then I found science. I guess you could even say I was obsessed with the science. And look what science did to me! I was content the way I was!”

“But I thought you liked being a girl…”

“Yeah, since it happened, a convenient side effect is that I feel like I’ve always been a girl. I’m not complaining. But I was content then, too. And what’s more, now I can’t speak out loud. I have to rely on my stupid, grumpy brother and hug him all the time to cheer him up because he never got over the shock of thinking I’d been killed in the blast! You want this to happen to you? You want to have a Blue Matter blast turn you into a freak?”

Peter folded his arms as sternly as he could manage and tapped his mask as though thinking very hard.

“Oh… I mean… if you don’t take this chance I got for you, you will end up destroying all you hold dear! Muahahaha!!”

“Right…”

“You think I’m making this up?”

“Well, no. I think I’m asleep.”

She slapped him upside the head.

“Ow!” he groaned.

“Not sleeping. I wanted to warn you, Peter. I wanted to tell you so many times but you never stay still for anyone who isn’t screaming in your face. How I can talk to you even now, I don’t know. I’m loving it, though.”

“You always did have a big mouth…”

“Thanks.”

“And your voice is exactly the same…”

“Not every woman is a soprano, dummins.”

“But you’re a bass!”

“Lucky me. Now, to business. You will be visited by three robots…”

“This is the chance I’m getting? Only I already got visited by three robots.”

“Trust me, this is different.”

“Whatever.”

“Expect the first tonight at midnight, the second tomorrow, same time, and the third the night after that.”

“You’d better have them all come together or I’ll miss the Yulemas Party once I’m a changed man,” he muttered sarcastically.

“Don’t laugh it off, stringbean. I mean what I say. And you know how significant that is at this point in my life. I didn’t drag it out, I made every word count, and I want to drag it out, believe me… because since I’ve delivered my message, this is goodbye, _voice_.”

“What? What do you mean…?”

His words died in his throat as she stared him down. She always did have an amazing stare…

And Bunny had a great voice, back then, and had always loved to talk, sing, joke, be silly… and now she couldn’t… at least, until these last few minutes. As she stared, she reached up with a trembling hand and turned her fingers over her lips as if turning a very stiff key, her pained expression chilling him to the bone. Tears formed in her eyes as she returned to her silence.

“Bunny…”

She tapped at her wrist, gave a little salute, and backed away… eventually disappearing into the wall of the outer hallway.

Peter clapped his hand over his mouth in shock. What?

“Science…” he muttered, scrambling for his notebooks with shaking hands, wishing there was still a door to lock. “Need something real… losing it…”

He burrowed into the dull, steady notes like a warm blanket and fell asleep, two hours later, face down on his desk.


	2. The First of the Three Robuts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, I did a thing:
> 
> http://beethegatekeeper.deviantart.com/art/Robut-of-Yulemas-Past-421375997?ga_submit_new=10%253A1387705758
> 
> Additional illustrations  
>  \- The First Robut - http://beethegatekeeper.deviantart.com/art/A-Yulemas-Carol-The-First-Robut-502008361  
>  \- Rabbit Extinguished - http://beethegatekeeper.deviantart.com/art/A-Yulemas-Carol-Rabbit-Extinguished-499849555?ga_submit_new=10%253A1418420540

Peter woke in a puddle of his own drool and swore softly. As he was wiping under his mask, he heard the antique pocketwatch he had inherited from his great-great-grandfather chime the hour.

Midnight… or noon. It was hard to tell in his lab. He scooped the watch out of his desk drawer and saw that the dial was set to the moon setting… midnight.

Nothing happened. He sighed. What a weird dream…

“Yehr watch is f-f-f-fast, laughing boy.”

“Argh!” cried Peter. “Rabbit, you scared me…”

“Nah, I startled ya. I mean…” He cleared his throat with a metallic rattle. “I am the Robut of Yulemas Past!”

“Seriously?” he asked, finally looking up.

Rabbit was holding a tall pointed hat and wearing a winterized version of his old vest. And his head was glowing!

“Rabbit! Is that fire?”

“Sort of…”

“Put it out!”

“Pssh, alright,” Rabbit muttered, and dunked his head into Peter’s cold soup bowl.

“Dang it, Rabbit! Here…” He handed the dripping robot the towel he’d been using on his mask. Rabbit shrugged and wiped his head. It still glowed.

“Why are you glowing, Rabbit? Did you get into the phosphorus again?”

“Nuh-uh. I am the l-l-light of memory.”

“Pretty… so you’re the ghost of Christmas past…”

“ _Robut of Yulemas Past!_ Ya deaf?”

“Fine, fine! So what happens now? You walk me around the Manor and show me familiar rooms and remind me of things?”

“Sorta…”

“And then The Spine is the Gho… uh… Robut of Christmas… I mean Yulemas Present?”

“Nope!” Rabbit sang, grinning.

“But that one was always laughing and jolly and The Spine has that glitch…”

“Yeah, but I wanted to be Present and they said Hatchy wasn’t around for your past so he couldn’t do that so I said I’d be Future but they said I couldn’t be quiet long enough and plus my new chassis ain’t done yet…” Here he glared significantly at Peter, who shrugged. “So I said I’d be past if The Spine was Future.” He folded his arms and smirked. “He looks just like a Dementor.”

“Well, let’s get one with it, then. I suppose it’s kinda touching that Michael got you all in on this.”

“Michael?”

“Reed? I assume he orchestrated it.”

Rabbit smiled, the eerie, suspicious smile that made you suddenly contemplate how far he really was from actually being human and how close you were to the nearest exit.

“Never assume,” he murmured in his silkiest bass. He waved a hand toward an opening in the wall. “To the window.”

“That’s a dumbwaiter, Rabbit.”

“No, it’s a window.”

“We’re technically underground…”

“And yet,” Rabbit pressed, grabbing him under the arm and hauling him toward it, “for us it’s a window.”

On arriving at the dumbwaiter, he took Peter’s hand, held it up, and blew a soft cloud of steam against it.

“Remember…” he breathed.

There was a child in the dumbwaiter, holding his hand over a steaming mug of cocoa.

 

“Hey! That thing’s not safe for kids!” Peter barked.

“Petes…”

“Hey, kid! Kid! Hey!”

“He can’t hear you, dummins.”

“Is he deaf?”

“He’s _you!_ He’s y-y-y-you when you were still a squishy little kid with a face, you idiot! Haven’t you ever read the book? You weren’t always all about science, y’know. You used to love Yulemas things… ”

A timer went off next to the boy. He smiled and sipped the cocoa.

“Four minutes and twenty-five seconds later, exactly the right temperature!” he exclaimed, beaming. He wrote something down on a notepad.

Peter turned his mask on the robot. “You were saying?”

“Alright, you were kinda anal…” Rabbit muttered. “But look!”

Little Peter VI sat back against a pillow with his cocoa and picked up a thick red book.

“There, see?” Rabbit crowed, rallying. “Christmas stories, I bet…”

He leaned in close. “The Tales of H.P. Lovecraft. Dang it, Petes!”

Peter’s heart was in his throat.

“Petes?”

“I used to love that book,” he murmured. “The Spine wouldn’t read it to me at first, so I read it by myself. But when we finished Murders in the Rue Morgue I managed to talk him into it… It was my only escape when the kids picked on me at school…” He chuckled, embarrassed. “Silly kid…”

Rabbit’s jaw, which had been hanging open in apparent astonishment, squeaked shut. “ _The Spine_ read all those creepy stories to you?”

“Yeah… I said Peter Pan and Treasure Island were too soft so he got this kinda shifty look and started on Edgar Allen Poe…”

“But… you look… maybe s-s-seven?”

“Six…”

“The old psychopath… He always did have a soft spot for Walter kids…” Rabbit shook his head. “Alright, so Cthulhu was your o-o-old imaginary friend. Well… I don’t think this quite nailed it…”

“Peter! We’re watching Charlie Brown!” called a voice.

The two of them moved aside unnecessarily as The Jon pelted through, scooped up little Peter, turned him around to get his things, and walked back out of the lab chattering about Snoopy as the boy giggled in his arms.

“Never mind. Mischief managed. Next,” said Rabbit.

He waved his red and white striped gloves under Peter’s mask and his incorporeal nostrils filled with the scent of peppermint.

 

“Whew!” he cried. “Hey, I thought your gloves were black and red…”

He realized he was outside. It was a warm, sunny afternoon. Children were scattering in a meandering sort of way, trickling from classrooms with backpacks dragging, chattering playfully as they went on their separate courses. Some were carrying gifts from friends, wrapped or unwrapped, goodie bags from classes, little tokens from teachers, sucking candy canes as they went.

“My old school…” he breathed, uncomfortable. Then he saw him… little Peter, maybe three years older than the last one, walking out alone as he opened a small wrapped parcel. There was no sign of any other gifts or tokens outside of the school’s obligatory candy cane given to every student at Christmas.

“This…” older Peter said. “I remember this…”

“Aw, ya got a present!”

“Yes, well…”

The boy had finished opening the paper. He had gotten a nice little gift from his teacher… a baseball. It had a card attached that read, “Well done, Peter! For my star pupil, a little reminder. Get out and play during the break! Life’s not all about study, and not everything can be learned in a classroom.” He hastily stuffed it into his backpack.

“Holy crude, ya started early…” muttered Rabbit. “I don’t remember ya ever playin’ ball.”

“What? I liked studying!” He watched the solitary child walk toward a sedan waiting at the curb.

“Yehr not givin’ me m-m-much ta work with, bright boy!” Rabbit accused as they followed.

“Hey, no one asked you to…”

He stopped when he heard a cry.

“Peter! Hey Pete!”

Peter the younger froze in place, shoulders hunched, as though waiting for a blow. But all that happened was that a tallish boy with tousled brown hair ran up to him.

“I couldn’t catch you all day! There was so much stuff going on! Hey, I got you this!”

“Oh, Mike, it’s you… I thought it was one of those jerks.”

Peter the elder sighed.

“Nah, screw them, right? Here, take it, my mom’s waiting!” The boy pressed a package into his hands. “I’ll see you during the break, too! Did you know? My mom’s getting me guitar lessons from one of your robots! Y’know, The Jon!”

“Oh, I don’t know…”

Mike laughed. “It’s okay, the silver one will be there the whole time.”

Rabbit snickered. “Why didn’t The Spine just teach him guitar himself?”

“Jon wanted to do it. I remember that too…”

“Well, that’s cool…” said younger Peter. “I’ll see you then!”

“Yeah,” said Mike happily as he hurried away. “And we can play with that baseball!” He winked and ran off.

Little Peter hunched his shoulders and all but dived for his mother’s car.

“Well, there you go,” said Rabbit as the car drove away. “Was he ever not nice?”

“Never…” Peter said softly. He shook his head. “What do you mean, ‘there you go?’ All I saw so far was a kid alone in a dumbwaiter and a kid no one liked except for Michael Reed, who likes everyone!”

“So it don’t mean anything if he l-l-likes you, then?”

“Well…” Peter saw what he was trying to do. “I’m not saying I don’t value Michael’s friendship, alright?”

“He was the only kid who liked you, Pete. And he wasn’t just your friend in school, he really was your friend. He still is. And you treat him like an employee.”

“He _is_ an employee!”

Rabbit whistled like a kettle. “Cold, bro.”

“Look, I get it. I need to get out more and appreciate what I have. Are you sure you have the right story? This reminds me more of ‘It’s a Wonderful Life.’”

“Nah, we ain’t seen what the world would be like if you’d never been born. Did ya want to?”

“No, no, this is bad enough.”

“Come on, I ain’t done with ya yet.”

Rabbit began to sing a mindless little tune, until it suddenly wasn’t mindless, and it wasn’t Rabbit.

 

There was a lively but small party going on. A group of teenagers were gathered around a table playing a board game and sipping mulled cider to wash down the sort of fancy array of cookies that came in a tin together. Bouncy music played in the background.

Sitting with an almost too serious expression among them was Peter Walter the VI, looking about sixteen years old.

“Sober kid still, huh?”

Peter surprised himself and Rabbit by laughing. “Wait for it…”

“Cushlamochrie,” read the boy. “First definition… Colin Mochrie’s daughter.”

The other kids laughed.

“A very comfy chair.”

There were snickers but they were more uncertain. A few kids wrote things on slips of paper.

“A virginal young lassie,” he murmured, waggling his eyebrows.

“What? You n-n-never did that at home!” Rabbit cried.

“I thought you were supposed to represent memory, Rabbit! How come you’re so surprised at everything?”

“This ain’t exactly my regular job, Mabel. Besides, ya made me put my light of memory out!”

“Thank me later. Look…”

The kids had all laughed and no one had written anything. There was a very slight twitch from teenaged Peter’s eye as he read, “A ripe Gloucester cheese.”

One kid giggled, and stopped when no one else joined in. Several of them wrote on their slips of paper.

“What game is this, anyway?”

“Balderdash,” Peter murmured. “I was the dasher this round. They all made up definitions, and I wrote down the real one, then I had to read them all and trick them into thinking the real one was fake, and a fake one was real… Oh, I whupped their butts at this game! They never could read my expression. Said my face was like a mask.”

Rabbit snorted.

“Shut up. Insensitive jerk,” Peter muttered.

His younger self read several more definitions and the results showed that no one had guessed the right definition, a virginal young lassie. Most had thought it was the cheese.

“Nice, Peter!” cried a kid at the other end of the table.

“You all make it too easy, Mike.”

Michael Reed gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head, and Peter added with a little grin, “You’re all too nice to suspect my evil schemes.”

There were good-natured giggles from the crowd and Michael gave a little wink.

“You w-w-want me to believe that you’ve had nothing but bad Yulemases? Looks like yehr the stud here.”

“I did have a lot of fun, when Michael was able to keep me in check. I was kinda competitive.”

“Any reason why you can’t have fun again, say with your own f-f-family?”

“Where’s the challenge in having a poker face when you have no face?” muttered Peter.

“Ah, but _that_ wasn’t when you stopped having fun at Yulemas…” Rabbit flipped up the keyhole mask, snatched up a cookie and jammed it in the approximate location of Peter’s mouth.

“Whuff?” Peter spluttered. Rabbit had gotten a bulls-eye with the cookie. Peter couldn’t understand how he had even been able to touch it!

 

 “No kidding, aren’t they great, Peter?”

“Dang it, Bunny!” coughed Peter, spitting crumbs inadvertently. He swallowed. “By the way, why do we call you that again?”

“He likes rabbits,” said David.

“I like rabbits,” Bunny agreed, eating his remaining cookie.

“Look, just help me out here, I’m trying to figure out how to seal that crack!”

“I could make so many jokes right now.”

“I know, right?”

“Which of you is talking?” muttered Peter Walter VI, age 25, as he peered into his microscope.

“Both,” they said together, dissolving into giggles. Michael Reed, tuning his guitar in a nearby chair, grinned.

“David was so much more cheerful then,” said Peter, fastening his mask once more.

“It wasn’t th-th-that long ago, either.”

“Can we just get this done, you two? Come on!”

The twins sighed as one and settled in to work.

“Wait,” said one. “I’ll make you a deal.”

“What, Dav…” He glanced up at the smooth scalp of the twin speaking and corrected himself. “What, Bunny?”

“We work for one more hour, and then you come up and play D&D with us.”

“Good plan!” called Michael brightly.

“But…”

“They may live here but their contracts give them holidays, Peter.”

Younger Peter kicked the trash can under his desk, startling them. He sighed.

“Fine. But make the hour worth it, alright.”

“Alright…” Bunny and David murmured, no longer giggling.

Peter sighed into his mask. “Idiot. They were just…”

“Ju-ju-just what?” Rabbit pressed.

“I just kinda wish… I hadn’t been so hard-nosed about it, that’s all. I mean, considering… It ended up being a pretty fun game, but I kept checking the time and it ended early.”

“Hm. Well. One last one,” Rabbit said quietly, his blue left eye flashing brightly.

“Rabbit, what…”

 

But it wasn’t Rabbit’s eye anymore. It was a warning light on a console. Peter gasped as he realized where, and when, they had gone.

“Rabbit… no, I don’t want to see this…” he cried, alarmed.

“Last Christmas Eve, just one year ago,” said Rabbit sadly, ignoring his plea.

“Bunny! It’s going critical!” screamed David.

“I can stop the chain reaction!” Bunny called, working furiously with the controls of a sparking, smoking box.

“Peter, stop him!”

“Bunny!”

“Just a second… almost got it!”

David started to run to his twin but Peter caught him and dragged him back with difficulty.

“Bunny!” David screamed again, tripping over Peter’s foot.

Seconds after the two of them fell in a heap behind a lead-lined barrier, the experiment breached. Bunny screamed raggedly as he took the full brunt of the exploding Blue Matter the machine had unleashed. David fought to get free of the tangle of limbs as the scream abruptly went silent. There was a sickening thud.

He and Peter gaped at one another, shocked at the sound, then David resumed his struggles, trying to rise.

“The area’s still irradiated!” cried Peter, trying to hold him back.

“Then we’re already exposed!” bellowed David, punching Peter in the mouth and scrambling from their hiding place to reach his sibling.

“Ouch…” murmured Rabbit.

“He punches like a koala,” said Peter absently. Indeed, his younger self, age 26, seemed more stunned than injured.

“Bunny…” David was sobbing. “Wake up…”

Younger Peter peered over the barrier.

“Peter!” cried David, tears streaming down his face. “Look at him! He’s pale… His lips are black…”

“Is he breathing?” Peter crawled from behind the barrier and joined David. “Check for a heartbeat.”

David felt Bunny’s neck. “I think… hang on…” He leaned down and put his ear to Bunny’s chest and jerked away just as quickly. “That’s not right…”

“What?” asked Peter, putting his hand out to check.

“No,” said present Peter, turning away. “No. I do not want to see this.”

Rabbit was giggling.

“You really are insensitive, y’know that? He’s been completely mutated into a female mime by a violent Blue Matter bath and you’re giggling…”

“I’m a robut. We don’t really do sensitive.”

The momentary distraction was enough, however, to spare Peter the unpleasant sight of his younger self placing his hand on Bunny’s breast. Slightly younger Peter was now absently wiping his hand on his lab coat as though he could wipe away the feel of the newly minted bust he hadn’t meant to grope. And David was as red as his brother… as his _sister_ was white.

“Your stupid experiments!” he spat at Peter. “Even on Christmas Eve, you had to keep going! This is all on you, Peter! Look at him! That can’t be healthy, can it? White skin, black lips, and breasts?”

“It looks like he’s just been turned into a mime… There’s an entire race of them in Kazooland…”

“And the rack?”

“Well, maybe that isn’t all that changed. I mean, if it’s the entire set, then…”

“Shut up! Just shut up! Did he ask to be transformed into a lady mime? Aren’t the mimes in Kazooland mute? So he adjusts to being a woman with black lips, what about being mute? He’ll go crazy, Peter!”

“I… I…”

“She’s happy being female, though,” present Peter sighed. “She said so…”

“He didn’t know that,” Rabbit replied. “And n-n-not all of us can switch with the change of a chassis, can we?”

“I’ll finish it in a few weeks, okay?”

“What? No, I wasn’t naggin’. I ain’t even got the outfit done yet. N-n-no, I mean, David didn’t know. And he was nearly right about the muteness.”

“I know…” mumbled Peter.

“As soon as Bunny can walk, we’re out of here,” David was saying bitterly.

“What? No! Where can you go? Bunny needs us more than ever now!”

Michael Reed sprinted into the lab. “Peter, I heard…” he stopped in his tracks, several Walter Girls and other household staff running in behind him. “Bunny?”

“Paige, Carolina, Em… we need you especially…” younger Peter said with a trembling voice.

As the Walter Girls approached, David glared at all of them and lifted his brother-turned-sister in his arms with some difficulty, as Bunny was not an inch shorter than before. As he staggered from the room, he turned to glare back at Peter.

“You’re right. There’s nowhere else we can go, _now._ Just stay out of my way, Walter.”

Michael tried to talk to Peter, but he waved him away.

“Just leave me alone…”

“Alright, this time I mean it! I’m done!” shouted present day Peter, unable to take any more. “I _have_ read the book, as it happens, and I know what’s next! I hope this works just as well for me as it did for Scrooge!”

He snatched the pointed hat from Rabbit and jammed it down on his head.

“Ow, seriously?” cried Rabbit, slowly vanishing under the hat. “I ain’t no ghost!” His voice grew fainter. “I’m a t-rex!”

He was nearly gone. There was a last, faint cry of, “I’m melting! Meeeltiiing!” and the light was gone.

Peter staggered through the now dark, cold and empty lab to his executive chair, sinking trembling into it. He tore off his mask, sank forward onto his desk, and cried himself to sleep.


	3. The Second of the Three Robuts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The present.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hatchyyyy... get ready for corn and sass.
> 
> Illustrations: http://beethegatekeeper.deviantart.com/art/A-Yulemas-Carol-illustration-1-498475542  
> http://beethegatekeeper.deviantart.com/art/A-Yulemas-Carol-The-Robut-of-Yulemas-Present-500650460  
> http://beethegatekeeper.deviantart.com/art/A-Yulemas-Carol-Matter-Masters-500813068

He woke in another drool puddle, his back screaming at him. He checked his pocket watch. Midnight.

What? How?

There was a glow coming from an adjacent lab.

“Oh, no. No. I go in there and find piles of food and get a nice tour of all the fun going on this Christmas, and some guilt because I don’t pay Michael enough to keep his wife and kids and gimpy son… Only he doesn’t have any of those…”

“Come in! Come in and know me better, Peter VI.”

“Ugh. Fine. Coming, Hatchworth.”

“There’s a good lad.”

Sure enough, Hatchworth sat in the Ghost of Christmas Present classic pose, wearing the holly crown around his derby hat and stovepipe, which puffed balls of steam that formed themselves into various festive shapes before they dissipated above his head. He was clothed in a large, fur trimmed robe open at the chest to reveal his hatch, and was surrounded by all the amazing things he’d been baking and cooking for the last week.

“I bet you never saw a spread like this before?”

“Not down in the labs, no…”

Hatchworth laughed for some reason.

“Well, we have things to see. I couldn’t show you your past since I was in a vault all that time, but I will show you what’s happening now.”

“Fine,” Peter said flatly.

“Good boy. Take my robe.”

“Can’t we just walk upstairs, Hatchworth? It’s all happening now, after all...”

“Not ‘this very minute’ sort of now, silly beans. Some of it is Christmas…”

“Yulemas.”

“Yulemas Eve, and some is Yulemas Day, and some is just because you’ve been kind of a jerk lately and ‘lately’ is sort of now also.”

“Thanks.”

“I strive to please.” He held out his robe. Peter sighed and grabbed its fur-trim.

They were upstairs.

“Like I said, Hatchworth…”

“The robe was faster.”

Peter V was dancing with his wife, Annie, to Ella Fitzgerald. They sang along as they danced, while Walter Girls and various staff and family shuttled back and forth, preparing for the holiday celebration.

“I really can’t stay,” sang Annie.

“But baby, it’s cold outside…” Peter V sang back, now visible eyes crinkling with humor.

“I’ve got to go ‘way…”

“But baby, it’s cold outside …”

“Coming through, sweethearts!” Paige sang, slipping past them with several wrapped gifts.

“Any for me?” cried Peter V.

Paige arranged them under the strangely decked Yulemas tree and stood, tickling him under the chin. “You’ll find out, little boy! No peeking!”

The Spine, reading his newspaper in an easy chair nearby, still wearing the red velvet vest, chuckled as Paige hurried to help Hatchworth frost holiday cookies.

“You haven’t changed about the holidays since you first came here, Peter.”

“Spine!” said Peter V, dipping his wife dramatically. He planted a loud kiss on her neck and added, “You usually call me Mr. Walter.”

“At the holidays, you’re Peter again. Just Peter.”

“I surely am!” He twirled Annie away just in time for Rabbit, strolling into the room in his disjointed, rocking and rolling way, to catch her mid-twirl.

“Baby! I didn’t know you cared!” he cried, sweeping her into a dance, to Peter V’s indignant cry.

“Alrighty, then…” said Peter VI, turning away from the comfort and joy. “I now have diabetes. Can we look at something else?”

“Should I call an endocrinologist?”

“No, I don’t _really…_ Look, what are you trying to prove?”

“That we are having fun. Do you see all the fun we are having, Peter VI? It should do your heart good to see such fun!”

“Well, yeah…” said Peter in a high, hesitant tone. “Naturally, it’s great to see Mom and Dad dancing around and it’s always a joy to see Dad’s eyes… considering the alternative…”

“Yes, that did take some getting used to…”

“And Paige is as cute as ever. We have the cutest girls come work here, I swear.”

“Don’t let them hear you talk that way or they will slap your butt with a lawsuit.”

“I swear, nothing’s okay anymore…” Peter muttered.

“Shh, look!” Hatchworth pointed.

Michael Reed had come in and was picking his way past Rabbit’s surprisingly graceful foxtrot with Annie. He handed The Spine a package.

“Happy Yulemas, Spine!”

“Thank you, Mr. Reed.” The Spine reached one long arm out and placed the package under the tree.

“Seriously? Go ahead and open it!”

“Oh, no,” the Spine said comfortably, sitting back. “Not until Yulemas morning.”

“Spine!” laughed Michael. He put the rest of his gifts under the tree, stopping to frown at one before setting it down.

“I’d say he had a stick up his butt, but it seems kinda unnecessary since he’s made of metal…” said Rabbit, twirling Annie back to her husband’s waiting arms as the song ended.

“You’re not gonna be able to make me mad this time, Rabbit. I’m too full of the holiday spirit.”

“Oh? Startin’ early, huh? I thought Bunny stopped Hatchy from putting in the rum…”

Paige swept in and breathed, inches from his coppery ear, “No, I did.”

Rabbit squeaked and giggled, trotting after her as she returned to the cookies.

“Now that our obstacle is out of the way,” Peter V beamed.

The Spine, who had risen from his comfy chair during Rabbit’s momentary distraction, made a throat-clearing noise and said, “Actually, Peter, if I might cut in?”

“Well, bless you for asking, at least! Alright, Spine.”

Another soft jazz Christmas song played as The Spine smoothly whirled Annie around. A moment later, Paige said, “Annie, may I?”

“Please! I need to get off my feet for a few!”

The Spine smiled charmingly as Rabbit glared rebelliously from the kitchen doorway.

“’Smatter, Rabbit?” he asked pleasantly.

“Nothin’. Not a thing.”

“Oh, that’s good.” He dipped Paige smoothly and winked at Rabbit.

“I’m cuttin’ in, wise guy.”

The Spine extended Paige’s hand toward Rabbit with a bow and returned to his chair, grinning. Michael Reed gave him a lively slap on the back and winced.

“Watch the hands, Mr. Reed. We have rehearsals the day after tomorrow.”

“Right, Spine.” He rubbed his hand gently.

“So, is Peter c-c-coming up tomorrow?” asked Rabbit.

“I tried to talk him into it. I dunno, maybe he’ll soften up and come.”

“We’ll all try to talk him into it.”

“Steve is already down there.” Michael shook his head as though he wasn’t convinced that would help.

“I know,” Paige crowed, breathless with laughter as Rabbit drew her in close for a slow song. “Let’s go one by one… We’ll wear him down!”

Annie laughed. “Good idea. He’s always enjoyed the holiday parties, but we usually have to go and get him.”

“Rabbit…” The Spine murmured casually. Rabbit hastily held Paige, who had been plastered against him, just a bit looser.

“I dunno, Annie,” said Michael. “He didn’t seem like he was even considering it this year. Y’know, usually he’s not sure and then he comes along when one of us comes for him. He even dresses up. But I think this year may be a lost cause.”

“What?” Annie asked, her smile fading.

“I don’t think he’s coming. He just kept saying ‘whatever’ and wouldn’t even make eye contact.”

They all turned to look at him. “Well, you know what I mean.”

“Well, you can’t really blame him, can you?” asked Rabbit. “I mean, his face…”

They fell silent. Rabbit and Paige had even stopped dancing.

“You are very quiet,” said Hatchworth.

“Hm?” Peter had gotten caught up in the conversation. “Yeah, of course! I’m appalled. They’re all just sitting around discussing me.”

“They are worried about you. They like to have you around.”

“They like to have _me_ around… Not a wooden mask.”

“That is only the front. From the back, you are still our Peter.”

“So you like my butt?”

“Well, I suppose it is rather nice if you like that sort of thing. That did not come through the way I had intended.”

“No, I understand, Hatchy,” Peter said. “I mean, Robot of Yulemas Present.”

Hatchworth smiled proudly.

“Isn’t there more stuff to show me, though?”

“Not really… they are all here… almost.”

“It’s just that I really want to get out of here.”

A jazzy version of “Sleigh Ride” had started and Rabbit had responded with one of his famous wiggles.

“I always feel uncomfortable when he does that…” Peter continued.

“Is that why you’re making the new chassis?”

“Yeah, I thought it might be less disturbing for a girl to do it…”

“Woman.”

“Hm?”

“If you call them girls, they slap your butt with a lawsuit. Unless you put a U in it. Then it is sassy.”

“I…”

“But since you are a man, if you say it like that they will think you are gay.”

“Hatchworth, where do you get all this…”

“Hey, before you go, Michael… what did you get Peter?” asked Paige. “Since we may have to wait to see him open it.”

“What?” said Peter, turning.

“Oh,” Michael chuckled. “I managed to find a copy of this game we used to have. Peter always whooped our butts at it. It’s called Balderdash.”

“Oh…” Peter breathed.

“Well, now you have done it. The surprise is spoiled.” Hatchworth chided.

“What? I asked to leave!”

“So you did. Better late than never.”

He took Peter by the hand and they were abruptly elsewhere in the Manor.

“This is the Walter Worker’s wing…” said Peter.

“Did you not notice someone missing?”

“Carolina?”

“She was in the kitchen, dummins. And Em is in Snornia.”

“Oh! David and Bunny!”

“Correct! Come and see.” He walked into one of the bedrooms.

“What? They’re in here while everyone else is downstairs?”

“You are in the lab while everyone else is upstairs,” replied Hatchworth, sticking his head around the doorframe. “What is the difference?”

“Well… I thought… I don’t know. It’s just kinda quiet and lonely here.”

“They have each other.”

“That actually sounds really sad in this context,” Peter murmured, looking into the room.

Bunny sat in a chair, a drawing tablet on her lap, steadily working. David, however, was on the bed, curled on his side, staring at the wall.

“Hatchy! Is David sick?”

“His body is not sick, no…”

“But then… Oh… How often is he like this?”

“Oh, not much.”

“That’s a relief…”

“It is only when he is not working.”

“But… why?”

Hatchworth pointed at Bunny.

“What? But Bunny says she feels like she’s always been female, which is a good thing since I have no idea how to reverse it…”

“It is not that. He has adjusted to the change. But it is just as Bunny told you… the sight of his twin so close to death has haunted him since that day. He can force himself to work, but having to continue working in the place where he almost lost everything is like torture. He has nowhere else to go. They are masters of matter, blue and white and black instead of looking warm and alive. They are stared at anywhere they go, so they don’t go anywhere… Except ComicCon. Bunny did take him to ComicCon, but the crowds freaked David out and Steve had to bring them home.

“It was even worse then, because he had witnessed _your_ accident as well. Now they do this… Bunny being steady, David spending his off hours fighting his fear.”

Peter gasped. “Are you telling me a Matter Master has clinical depression and we just leave him to it?”

“He does not want any help. His sister sits with him, and when she cannot, other workers take a turn.”

“But… but… that’s shocking! That’s horrible! It’s like he has cancer and we’re just letting him die of it because he won’t accept treatment!”

Hatchworth nodded solemnly.

“Why haven’t I been told, Hatchworth?”

“It was my understanding that they considered you to be no better off.”

Peter was stunned. For a moment, he didn’t know what to say.

“They meant well.”

“I know, Hatchy, but… I just can’t… You all think I’m spiraling?”

“Aren’t you?”

He had never seen Hatchworth this serious. “No,” he choked.

“If you are not, then why did you not come upstairs, and learn for yourself that David was sick?”

“He… he hates me, Hatchy. He doesn’t want me to talk to him, ever. How could I help?”

“He was always your friend before.”

Peter shook his head. “And I blew it. I know. So obsessed with gathering data, recording results… and Bunny thought he… she…” He sighed. “I guess it was a lot for David to absorb…”

“Indeed it was.”

“But Bunny’s just fine with it all…”

“Look at her brother. She has had no choice but to be fine.”

“Oh…”

Bunny leaned into her work, glancing up from time to time with a dark expression, worry and pain mingled in her eyes. Peter looked down at the drawing on the tablet and had to look away quickly and swallow hard as his stomach flipped over.

“That’s what she draws?” he gasped.

“I like the razor blades. They look very shiny.”

“They’re _both_ cracking up!”

“You all went through a frightening experience together. Humans who have had a trauma experience some shocking reactions, do they not?”

“You’re saying we’ve all got post-traumatic stress disorder?”

“If the boot fits, strut in it, bro.”

“Right. Maybe… maybe _they_ do… but I’m fine!”

“I believe reckless behavior is a symptom, man-who-blew-off-his-own-face.”

“I’m not sure about that…”

“You also carry a great burden of guilt. Perhaps your attempt to close the Temecula Rift was an attempt to restore what had been changed?”

“It was an attempt to do the right thing!” Peter shouted. “Don’t spin it into something it isn’t!”

“Alright, do not get your boxer-briefs into an Eldrich knot.”

Peter sighed and walked around in front of David. “What’ll happen to him, Hatchy? I mean, I’m gonna come straight up here when we’re done with this little school play you’re all putting on for my benefit, and apologize and beg him to seek treatment but… is he… are they gonna be alright?”

“Let’s just say that you’re on the right track. Whether he will accept your apology is the question.”

”I know, but...”

“You can save them.”

“From what?”

“Happy Yulemas.”

“Wait, what?”

The room went dark.


	4. The Third of the Three Robuts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The future. One possible future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I apologize.
> 
> Illustration - http://beethegatekeeper.deviantart.com/art/A-Yulemas-Carol-The-Last-of-the-Robots-501127540

“Hatchworth?” cried Peter. “Hatchworth!”

He looked around. He was sure it was Walter Manor, but it was so dark… He couldn’t even see the glow of lights down the halls.

As his eyes adjusted, he realized he was in the entrance hall.

“Spine?” he called. “Rabbit? Paige?”

The darkness seemed to absorb his voice.

“Anyone?” he cried, his voice shrill in the darkness.

There was a noise outside the front doorway.

“They’re gonna tear this place down, freak!” shouted a guttural voice.

Peter ran outside. Some teenagers were throwing eggs at the house. He could just see their silhouettes in the light from their car headlamps.

“Get out of here!” he shouted, though he didn’t know whether they could hear him. Where was everyone?

They jumped into their car and drove away, the tires kicking up bits of torn grass, visible in the bright moonlight.

“I’m calling the cops, you little jerks!” he shouted, running down the driveway. He stopped in his tracks as the punks tore through the front gateway.

The gates were wide open. One hung crooked from a single hinge. He turned and saw that the front yard was overgrown with creepers and weeds. Old, tattered strips of toilet paper hung from the venerable old trees lining the driveway.

“What is this…” he gasped, horrified.

He turned to the house and jumped about six feet into the air. A fearsome specter stood on the porch. It was tall, wearing a long black cloak which hid its face from his view. As he looked on, barely breathing, it extended a skeletal white hand toward him…

No… wait. That was the moonlight. The hand it extended was made of metal.

He took a deep breath, relieved. He’d forgotten for a moment! “Spine! I am so glad to see you, buddy!”

The figure said nothing, but gestured toward him, beckoning him to come.

“Right, of course.” He hurried to him, forgetting his fear. The Spine had always made him feel safer.

But The Spine remained silent. As he approached in the gloom, he found the silence started to get a little eerie. He reminded himself that this was part of the job.

“Alright, let’s do this,” he said briskly. “I’ve already got some plans to help David and I think I will go to that nice party… But I’ll see the horrors of the future that would have happened. After all, I’m going to change it, so why not?”

The Spine, face still obscured by the darkness of the hood, shook his head. “I’m sorry…” he whispered.

“What? Hey, aren’t you supposed to stay quiet…”

But The Spine swept his robe across Peter’s eyes and when he could see again, it was daytime.

The Manor didn’t look any better by daylight. The grass was a mockery of its former lush green, the trees lovely but still trimmed in layers of Charmin. A car pulled into the driveway.

“Those punks…” Peter began, thinking of running right through them and hoping they felt it.

But a man got out of the car. He recognized him right away.

“Mike!”

His hair was partially grey now, his face lined, but the strongest lines showed at the corners of the eyes and mouth; the good-natured remnants of years of smiles.

“You sure about this, baby?” said a woman as she handed him a large box she’d been holding.

“Absolutely. Every year, Skye. I don’t hear a word about any of the parcels, but they’re always gone the next day.”

“Maybe bums steal them though…”

“Then it’s still going to someone who needs it more than we do.”

“Angel,” she sighed. He smiled, but there was sadness in it.

“Daddy’s an angel,” giggled a girl in the back seat.

“We’ll make you some wings, Dad,” laughed another.

“Make yourselves some haloes while you’re at it,” he said with a wink, and they smiled at each other.

Michael walked up to the house.

“Peter?” he called. “It’s me, buddy. I won’t come in, I know that upsets you. It’s Christmas. I thought you might like some goodies.”

He waited. “Hatchy’s fine… He misses his brothers. I’ve left a phone number and address in the box in case you want to let us know when he can visit.”

There was only silence interrupted by a soft creak of some unseen shutter. Michael sighed, left the parcel on the porch and returned to his car. Peter stared after them as they drove away.

“Well,” he sighed. “I won’t say I’m not shaken. But surely none of this will happen now, right?”

The Spine remained silent.

“Right… don’t break character. Well, okay, let’s go.”

The Spine waved his robe again. This time they were in Bip. There could be no mistake. The capital of Merveille was a lively, bustling, incredibly quiet city, the center of a society of mimes.

“She’s human, Paige!”

“She _was_ human.”

He turned sharply. Paige and Carolina sat at little café, wearing regular clothes, looking as young as ever through the artificial longevity granted by the Blue Matter they handled, talking in hushed voices over their drinks.

“But she’s already dealt with so many changes! This place isn’t familiar to her! It’s bad enough being locked up…”

“But she won’t get the right treatment in California. I’m sorry, I hate it as much as you do, but after what happened… if there’s even a chance of finding Bunny inside this maze she’s woven around herself, I have to choose the caregivers who can accomplish it.”

“I guess…”

“Bunny?” said Peter.

The Spine nodded. With a swish of his robe, they were in a white hallway. The cold metal hand pointed to a little window in a door. Peter stooped to peer through it.

“Bunny… what happened?” he breathed.

She was curled up in a chair, her knees to her chest, eyes staring at nothing, one limp hand holding a pen. Before her on a table lay a sketchbook, blank as far as he could see.

“That’s it?” he said. “She just sits? Won’t even draw? But that’s even worse than David! Good grief, what condition is _he_ in now, if she’s like this?”

The Spine turned away.

“Spine? What is it?”

The Spine shook his head again.

“Spine…” said Peter, suddenly feeling sick. “Where’s David? And where are you and Rabbit? And my parents?”

The Spine put one hand inside the hood of his robe for a moment. His fingers came out streaked with oil.

“No…”

The Spine whipped his robe briskly this time, as though forcing himself to go through with it.

They stood in Walter Cemetery.

“Oh… one of them died…” Peter faltered, his heart in his throat.

The hand pointed. Peter saw a headstone that read, “Peter A. Walter V, 1947 – 2034.”

“Dad! Oh… Has it been that long?” he asked, heart pounding. “Well… that’s actually not a bad lifespan. I’m not happy about it but…”

He noticed it was a double headstone. Beside it, his mother’s name and the dates showed they’d died the same year.

“I don’t know if I should finding that touching or worrying,” Peter said as lightly as he could manage.

He stood, determined to be okay if it killed him. This wasn’t absolute. This was only a what-if. Nothing to panic over...

“Alright, so my parents got old. I can cope, I think. So, where are the others?”

The Spine pointed once more. Peter looked and felt like he’d been hit by a truck.

It was David’s headstone.

“No… Spine, what happened?”

He read the dates. 1986-2014. And the epitaph… “Left us too soon.”

“That’s just a figure of speech, though, right?” Peter said half-hysterically. “It doesn’t really mean that he did it himself. Does it? Spine? He didn’t, right? Spine, tell me! Did he… _kill himself?”_

The Spine nodded slowly and reached in to wipe his eyes again.

“Aw, Spine…” Peter sank to the dry grass. “David, no… you were traumatized. I get it. You were scared…  couldn’t you have just gone on hating me and gotten over it? I wouldn’t have asked you to go into the lab anymore if it hurt you… It wasn’t the end of the world… I mean… it didn’t have to be…”

He sniffled and realized he was crying. “I guess no one feels better if you tell them it’s not the end of the world, though, do they?” he murmured, lifting his mask and wiping his sleeve unceremoniously across where his nose should be. “They have to believe it themselves.”

He looked up. “I assume Steve and Matt are fine with their lives…”

The Spine nodded. From this angle, Peter could just make out the shape of his chin.

“Good. They had lives outside of the band. That’s something I didn’t screw up, at least. Spine, I have to ask… What about us? The three of us? You, Rabbit, me…”

This time The Spine didn’t wave his cape. He simply turned and walked back toward the house. Peter got up and jogged after, fighting a deep longing to run the other way.

The Spine led him into the house, past Michael Reed’s holiday parcel, and down to the lab; that same lab where everything seemed to go wrong. They passed through near darkness much of the way, so Peter was surprised to see a festive glow coming from the lab itself.

He half-expected Christmas lights when he went in, but there were none. There were lights, however. He scanned the room, taking in many things; the mess, the debris stored throughout the room in boxes similar to the one that stood on the porch, the various colored lights that had mimicked holiday decorations. Four of these lights, three green and one blue, came from two automatons sitting prone against the wall.

“Spine! Rabbit! What… they’re not active! You’re deactivated, Spine! Just plugged in like lamps so that your eyes glow…”

The Spine turned away. Peter put his hand on the robot’s shoulder.

“Spine! I’m so sorry! I won’t let this happen…”

The Spine was trembling. With one shaking hand, he pointed at the desk. Peter, naturally afraid of seeing anything that made The Spine tremble, took what felt like an eon to turn and look.

A man lay slumped on the desk. All around him were schematics and pieces of robots.

Pieces of Rabbit and The Spine.

He realized now why the robots weren’t active. The power cores were missing from both robots! But they were plugged into the wall… why? Possibly for comfort… Peter turned again to the desk. Beside the slumped figure was a notebook that read, “David 2.0.”

“David… I… I’m trying to build a new David? I must have lost my mind…” he gasped, looking at The Spine.

The Spine was turned away still, head hanging down, silver hands balled into fists.

“Wake up, you creep!” Peter roared, turning back to the slumped figure. “I’ll make you hear me, you monster! It didn’t have to come to this! How could I ever have turned into this? Wake up!”

He ran around to look at the face of the beast he’d become and a scream tore from his throat.

Peter Walter VI wouldn’t be bringing in his good friend’s Christmas parcel this year. He had long since lost the power.

“I didn’t need to see all this!” Peter sobbed. “I was going to change! I… I will change, Spine! Don’t let this happen! Make it go away! Make this future go away…”

He sank to his knees, at last tearing his eyes from the putrified face before him, and wept. He felt an arm slip around him.

“Spine… I want to go back… I can’t bear this anymore…”

“Peter...” said a deep voice.

"No... I won't look anymore... I can't..."

"Peter, wake up..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I noticed a mistake... Peter's face at the end there. So I'm gonna figure the vortex dissipated after its host died. Yeah, sure, that works...


	5. The End of It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter has his second chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is as friendly, cuddly, sappy, sticky, and gooey as it gets. A reward for tearing out your heart in the last chapter.
> 
> Illustration: http://beethegatekeeper.deviantart.com/art/A-Yulemas-Carol-Talking-to-David-502240068?ga_submit_new=10%253A1419410101&ga_type=edit&ga_changes=1&ga_recent=1

“Is it gone, Spine?” Peter asked weakly.

“Good grief, what was he dreaming about?” asked an astonished voice. He realized they were different voices.

“How’d he end up on the floor?” This one sounded amused.

He looked up. The arm around him was his father’s. His mother reached down and tousled his hair.

“You’ve been working too hard,” she said worriedly. “Come on, let’s get you some food!”

“Goodness knows we have enough!” Paige giggled. That explained the third voice. But Peter’s focus was on the other two.

“Dad? Mom?” Peter cried, voice breaking.

“Peter?” his father said. “What…”

Peter threw his arms around him and hugged him. He let go a second later, his old fear surfacing. Peter V beamed and pulled his son into a crushing hug.

“That’s a start on making up for the past six months,” the older man said.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?” Annie asked, kneeling beside them.

“Mom!” Father and son at once scooped her into their embrace. She giggled.

Peter looked up at Paige.

“I’ll take mine in a minute,” she said with a wink.

“Paige!” he cried, jumping up. “Oh, wait… Where’s Rabbit?”

“He’s upstairs…”

Peter hugged Paige happily.

“They’re… um, thank you, Peter…” She patted his back awkwardly. “They’re getting the tour bus loaded up…”

“What? Why?” he asked, letting her go.

“Hatchy’s made so much good stuff that we couldn’t eat half of it even if you do come help us! Sam and The Jon just got here and everyone got talking and Mike suggested taking a bunch of it to a homeless shelter. Steve is driving them over, but when they get back the party will start.”

“Sam and Jon are here, too?”

“Sure! It’s Yulemas! Everyone’s here.”

“But…” Of course. Scrooge’s ghosts had done it all in one night… “I thought I’d missed the party…” he finished lamely.

“Well, you slept pretty late, but no, you didn’t miss it,” Annie said with a smile.

“Have they left yet?”

“Who? Oh, the boys with the goodies…” Annie looked at Paige.

“I don’t think so…” Paige said. “Did you want to go too?”

“Yeah! And David and Bunny! Tell the others we’ll be right there!”

“David?” She looked worriedly at the others. “Oh, Peter, no…”

“It’s okay, Paige. Everything is gonna be okay now. Please tell them to wait!”

Without another word, he sprinted up the stairs to the Walter Worker Wing, his heart pounding from the idea of facing David after what he had seen, as much as from the exercise.

“Bunny! David!” he cried as he pelted into David’s room. Bunny started violently and dropped her pen.

“Go to Hell, Peter,” David said flatly, not looking up.

“I probably will. But you’re coming with me!”

Bunny’s eyes widened. Peter laughed.

“No! No… that’s… you’re not going to Hell… that’s funny… not really funny, but…”

Bunny folded her arms and frowned.

“No, I mean, you’re coming with me… with all of us, to the homeless shelter!”

David looked up. “Why?”

“We… we have a lot of food… too much food… we’re taking food to them.” He took a deep breath. Pull it together, Walter. “I think we both need a dose of real problems.”

“No, thanks, I have plenty,” David muttered, laying his head back down.

“David! I’m trying to… Bunny? Can you help here?”

Bunny looked back and forth between them for a moment. At last she grinned, tapped the save button on her tablet, and got up. Together they hauled David to a sitting position.

“What?” he mumbled. “Bunny, come on…”

She pulled his arm over her shoulder and lifted him to his feet.

“Ow!” he cried. “Dang it, Bunny!”

She looked sheepish and kicked off her heels, which had made her taller than her brother. A quick trot to her room brought her back wearing sneakers and she and Peter each took an arm. David flapped at them without much vigor or success, and at last they managed to march him downstairs.

As they entered the entrance hall, Peter saw a sight that made his blood run cold… Michael Reed, just outside the doorway, stooping over a box of treats. A frightened squeak escaped his lips and he squeezed David's arm in his panic.

“What’s the matter with you?” snapped David, jerking his arm free.

“Nothing!” Peter gasped as Michael lifted the box and turned toward the tour bus. He stopped when he heard them speaking.

“Peter!” he said happily.

“Mike, buddy!” cried Peter, running to hug him.

“Hey!” cried Michael, scrambling for a grip on the box as Peter lunged at him. Sam hastily caught the box before it fell.

“Is the world ending?” asked Michael. “I didn’t even dress up…”

Sam giggled. "What's dressing up for you? Tie dye?" He trotted away, humming a festive tune.

“Yeah!” Peter laughed. “I mean, no! No, the world will not be ending any time soon, not if I have anything to say about it!”

He ran back inside to where David stood leaning on Bunny and grabbed the Matter Master’s arm. David flailed until he had to let go.

“Well, come on, anyway! Help out!”

“David?” Michael said, stepping inside. His astonishment gave way quickly to a big smile. “David! Bunny! Isn’t it great? Come on, they’ll be so excited. This is what it’s all about, right? This is reaching out to your fellow humans and sharing warmth and kindness…”

David shook his head. “Hippie.”

The hippie hooked his arm into the Matter Master’s and walked him outside, his sister doing the same on the other side. The others, band members and robots alike, looked on in surprise as they led David into the bus.

“Shouldn’t I help load or something?” asked David dully.

“We’re almost done,” said The Spine.

Peter looked up at The Spine. Could any of them remember their part in his… was it a dream? He might never know…

The Spine looked down, and surprised everyone by putting his arms around Peter.

“Spine?” Then he _did_ remember?

“It’s good to see you upstairs,” The Spine said warmly, kissing him on top of his head like a child.

“What?”

“There’s mistletoe in his hat,” said Matt, marching past with the last box as The Spine released Peter. “He got me this morning. Right on the forehead.” He shuddered. "That steam feels really funky..."

“I think he’s p-p-playin’ hug and kiss bingo,” Rabbit added from the doorway of the bus. “I think yehr the last one. Whaddya win, Spine?”

"Peace on Earth, hopefully," the silver robot snapped, steering his brother into the bus.

“This is the cuddliest Yulemas I’ve ever seen,” called Paige from the porch. "We'll finish getting the party ready!" She waved as they climbed into the bus.

David slumped into a seat and stared out the window. Bunny looked at Peter, gave up trying to get any meaning from the mask and looked at Michael instead. Michael shrugged.

“It’s okay, Bunny. We’re all going to be alright,” said Peter, half to himself.

She looked at him once more, shrugged and sat beside her brother.

They managed to get David out of the bus when they got there, but it required Steve pretending he couldn’t lift a box alone and needed help. Peter grinned as he remembered Steve carrying the box out on one shoulder earlier.

Once inside, they were surprised by the cheer that met them. The people, sitting at long tables finishing a turkey dinner, weren’t exactly beautiful or sweet-smelling, to be sure, but some were wearing Santa hats and holly and singing carols. Many wished them a merry Christmas as they passed. The visitors could see, at one side of the open room, people in line for haircuts behind a partition.

Their first reaction when the group entered, however, was silence, spreading from the doorway through the large room and giving way to murmurs of astonishment as the robots led the way.

First came Rabbit, smiling and winking in his long Santa hat. There were a few startled, watery smiles in response as he clanked past, and murmurs of, “I remember, when I was little, my mother took me to see a robot band…” as recognition set in.

Next was Hatchworth, smiling broadly, and waving. They promptly waved back.

Then The Spine, a hush of awe following him like a cloud of silence.

And the last of the robots, The Jon, beaming so that all were smiling after he’d passed. Michael came along soon after and got so caught up speaking to people that Bunny had to take his box for him.

The scent of the goodies in the boxes began to reach the assembled group and some turned to watch them with interest. Once the automatons passed into the kitchen, many eyes were on Peter and the twins as they went by. Peter heard someone whisper, “They brought clowns? Is there gonna be a show?”

There was a ripple of excitement at the words. David avoided eye contact, but Bunny, laboring under the two boxes she now carried, looked surprised. She turned to them and grinned. They smiled and waved.

“Bunny?” Peter asked. She winked at him and hurried forward to her brother.

When the goodies were placed in the kitchen, the volunteers had thanked them with large smiles and began to distribute treats to the waiting people. Bunny turned to David and looked him square in the eye, then looked out at the people who were now craning their necks to look into the kitchen doorway.

“What?” he asked.

She jerked her head toward a low, small stage area at one side of the room and mimed an imaginary box.

“You’re putting me on…”

She stuffed the box into his hands so convincingly that he instinctively caught it.

“What am I seeing here?” Steve asked, boggled. Matt shrugged.

Sam laughed and The Jon clapped his hands. “They used to be mimes in the park,” Sam explained. “Bunny wants to give a show.”

“A show…” murmured Rabbit, looking up at The Spine, who smiled and walked out of the kitchen.

“You’re kidding me…” Peter said to, astonished. “You used to be _actual_ street mimes?”

“Bunny even did it in drag sometimes,” David said, his cheek twitching in a reluctant half smile.

Bunny raised an eyebrow at her brother, who shrugged.

Rabbit stared at The Jon, who grinned and hurried out after The Spine.

 “And here I thought you lived normal lives before you came to work for us!” Peter exclaimed.

“What is normal?” asked Hatchworth. Rabbit winked at him. Hatchworth winked back but didn’t move.

“Yeah… Bunny did that as a favor to me,” David sighed. “I wanted to work with robotics.” He sniffled. “If it weren’t for me, Bunny would still be able to talk…” He stopped, embarrassed.

“Whoops!” Rabbit cried, slipping out the doorway, dragging Hatchworth with him.

“Dementia,” said Steve. “Totally senile.”

“Psst! Mike!”

Michael strolled out at Rabbit’s call.

David was looking down at his hands. “If Bunny hadn’t gone along just to make me happy, he wouldn’t have had to completely change his… her life. He… she had a girlfriend… she couldn’t deal with it…”

His voice trembled. Bunny gave him a hug. He buried his face in her collar.

“I’m sorry, man. Uh… I mean woman… dang it!” came his muffled voice.

Bunny laughed silently and patted his back, then pushed him away and softly slapped him on the cheek.

“What does that mean?” asked Matt.

“She called me a dork. Why does everyone do that?”

They heard music and realized that the robots, all four, had wandered out to the little stage and were singing “The Christmas Song” in harmony, while Michael played accompaniment on an old upright piano, for the delighted crowd.

“Wow, all four!” cried Steve. “I wonder if they realize what a big deal this is… It’s gonna be all over Tumblr.”

“How?” asked Sam. “I mean…” He gestured toward the crowd.

Steve pulled out his phone and grinned wickedly. Sam laughed.

“I hope Jon remembers not to say “Yulemas” this time,” said Matt.

“I like it when he does that,” Steve replied as the two of them walked out. Bunny, peering at the band with interest, followed. David started after but Peter caught him by the arm.

“Hey, can I… um… I wanted to say something…”

Sam slipped out the door hastily after the others. Peter smiled.

“Alright, Peter…” David said softly, looking longingly toward the others. He waited, turning his eyes to Peter’s shoulder.

“David…” Peter began. “You’ll get used to it, alright? You’re both… we’re all dealing with this, okay? But… look, you see those people out there? Some of them really have lost everything. And… and they still think life is worth living. They actually came here to celebrate Christmas. They live out on the street and they still _want_ to celebrate.”

“What’s your point? That I have it good and I need to get over it?” David muttered bitterly. “That I still have my twin but I’m just that pathetic that I can’t even pull myself out of a funk on my own?”

Peter had suspected as much. David hadn’t cheered up at all; he’d just been trying for Bunny’s sake. That gave him an idea.

“Look, I want you to remember this, okay? You may think what you do only affects you, but it doesn’t.” He remembered Bunny, sitting and staring in that chair, and suppressed a shudder. “Sometimes you’re the only thing keeping the people you love from going over the edge. If you leave them…”

David looked up at him sharply. Peter’s heart jumped into his throat. _No… He’s already been planning it!_ Peter realized, suddenly very frightened.

“You don’t have to do it on your own,” he added quickly, trying to keep his voice calm. “But you need help, alright? We… we all do. I mean that… you, me, Bunny. The three of us.” He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. It was my fault… not yours. You just took a job. I pushed the experiment too far…”

“Yeah… Only I could have said something sooner, but I wanted the data too…” David replied faintly.

“Oh…”

“I’m sorry, too. I’ve wanted to tell you since your accident, but… I was so angry…”

“Alright…” Peter muttered uncomfortably. He hadn’t expected return apologies and it made him even more uneasy. “Just… don’t make any big decisions without asking… how about asking Bunny first? If Bunny lets you know it’s okay, go for it.”

David surprised him by laughing. In the same moment, tears began to trickle down his cheeks.

“Bunny?” he laughed, wiping his sleeve across his eyes. “She’s insane! Have you seen her art?”

“I try not to during meals…” Peter laughed. “But, yeah…”

“I mean, it’s brilliant, but dang…” He sighed and looked out at the robots. They were taking requests and were now singing a song by The Mamas and the Papas.

“While I’m far away from you, my baby…” Hatchworth crooned, his voice high and sweet.

“His voice still amazes me,” Peter said. “I can’t believe he was just built for combat and food service.”

Bunny hurried back in and started to pull David out to listen. She looked up at his face and stopped, eyes wide. He smiled.

“What is it? You still want to perform?” he asked mildly.

She hesitated, looking back and forth between them.

“Yeah, we’ll talk later, okay?”

She nodded and smiled.

They stayed the rest of the afternoon, leaving after the band had led the group in a number of carols and favorite songs, Michael Reed, the Jon and The Spine taking turns playing on the piano and a well-loved but well-tuned acoustic guitar offered for use by one of the homeless. A couple of times the music stopped and the twins performed routines from their street mime act, in which Bunny showed herself to be so expressive that you could almost hear her speak.

The Walter Girls, Peter V and Annie had everything ready when they arrived home, and heard all about what had gone on from Peter, who was so stirred up that he chattered like a child, frequently interrupted by band members and staff. Carolina and Paige moaned that they had missed the fun, so Steve promised them video and the twins put on an encore performance in which David lost his balance and ended up flat on his back.

“I guess I’m out of practice,” he muttered as the three Walter Girls pulled him up and hugged him.

“Don’t complain. You got a lot more hugs from screwing up.”

“Shut up, Mike,” David said, smiling from the center of black, blue and white hugs.

They opened presents and played Peter’s new-old game, but he giggled so much that despite his mask, everyone knew which definition was his every time.

Later, they sipped cocoa and watched “It’s a Wonderful Life” at Peter’s insistence.

Steve teased, “But that’s a _Christmas_ movie, dude…”

Peter rolled his eyes, realized they couldn’t see him do it, and said, “Yeah, well, it all comes to the same thing, doesn’t it?”

“Except The Spine took my Yulemas soup,” Rabbit had complained.

“You were going to actually _eat it!”_ cried The Spine.

“Duh! That’s what it’s f-f-for!”

“Dummins.”

“Shh, you’re a door.”

“ _You’re_ a door.”

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Steve said.

“Not right now, anyway,” Michael added.

Peter was giggling like mad. Michael looked at him with bemusement.

“So, you need help finding the gas leak in your lab?” he whispered as George Bailey thanked Mr. Gower for the suitcase.

“What? I’m just happy, alright?”

“I’m just surprised. I haven’t seen you this cheerful in… forever.”

“Well, I probably won’t be able to keep it up. Not on my own. First thing in the morning, I’m going to call the Cavalcadium and see if they have any members who work in trauma therapy.”

“What? Oh, because of…” He looked significantly at David, who was on the couch surrounded by Walter Girls.

“Yeah, but not only him. Also Bunny… and me.”

Michael nodded. Of course he wasn’t surprised, Peter thought. Mike was some kind of psychic…

“Mike…” he whispered. “Look… thanks, okay? For being my friend all these years.”

“What? It was easy.”

“For you, sure. Not for everyone.”

“No one is friends with everyone, Peter. You’re lucky as long as you’re friends with someone.”

“You’re friends with everyone.”

Michael laughed. “No…” he mooed.

“Well, you have a lot of friends…”

“It’s not that hard. If you like people, they know you like them, and then they like you. See? Easy.”

Peter shook his head. “Well, thanks for the instructions, but right now I’ll do like you said and be happy I have friends at all.”

“That’s not quite how I said it…”

“Yeah… I do tend to put a pessimistic spin on things. But I’m gonna do better, Mike. I’ll get out of the lab sometimes. I don’t promise to play baseball… kinda hard to catch a fly ball under the circumstances. But I’ll take care of my own. I’ll make sure everyone in Walter Manor is alright, y’know? I’ll play board games.”

“Just as long as you don’t suck as bad as you did tonight,” Sam chimed from a nearby seat. “I like a challenge.”

“Yeah…” laughed Michael. “You wait until he’s on his game, Sam. You won’t know what to guess. Anyway… It’s a good start, Peter. You’re brilliant at science, but you have a lot of potential for more. I always knew you had it in you.”

“Thanks… I’ll do my best…”

And he did do it all, and infinitely more. And to David, who did not kill himself, he was like a brother. He was the best boss, the best friend, the best son, the best scientist, and the best therapy patient, that the best manor full of robots had ever known, or any manor full of robots, on Earth or in Kazooland. Many at the Cavalcadium laughed, but he didn’t care. It was said of the Walters that they knew how to keep Yulemas well. And so, as Bunny said,

“…”

And David would say, immediately after,

“Happy Yulemas, everyone!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mmkay, there you go. First thing... no one is ever gonna hear a concert with more than three robots. So I figured I could dream, right?
> 
> Second, Balderdash is my favorite game. I really should look for a copy.
> 
> A lot of things in here didn't just come from imagination, or from what I know of the band. The kid with no friends... let's just say I've got first hand experience. Playing Balderdash with a group of teenagers at someone's house while munching cookies... also first-hand. That was a while back, but the game was around for a while and I figure the Reeds might have had an old copy. Very funny game.
> 
> I admit I've never been to a homeless shelter. I pictured the trio from Scrooged starting the rumor about a performance of some sort taking place.
> 
> And a serious note... I hope it never looks like I'm making light of suicide. I think I treated it with the right tone. This is the time of year when a lot of people find themselves considering suicide. There's something about a holiday like this that can make a person especially lonely, or feel like a failure because they haven't overcome last year's problems. I hope that my silly story also sends the message that nothing is permanent, things don't just change for the worse, difficulties in life can make us amazing people if we just keep going, and even an imperfect life (which is the only kind anyone gets) is worth living. Suicide is nothing more than an end, giving up everything you might have had, and spoiling the real ending. It tears worlds into pieces. That's a power you want to leave alone. 
> 
> But if, after all that, you still think it's a good idea... or at least, that you want to do it:
> 
> http://queerllama.tumblr.com/post/70615389362/r-i-p-ned-vizzini-its-kind-of-a-funny-story
> 
> There's a list of help lines on this Tumblr page... it's a post about Ned Vizzini, an author who killed himself yesterday. He left a wife and son. I've been very depressed before and I still don't understand how anyone could do that... I'm fortunate that I don't understand.
> 
> If you don't know how to go on... call... live on more day. Then live another one. Do amazing things in them, what have you got to lose? And keep living one more day. It always gets better. It just does.
> 
> I don't celebrate Yulemas... I prefer to keep my soup in a bowl and I can buy my own potatoes.
> 
> So Merry Christmas!


End file.
